(Photo by Duskfall Crew on Unsplash)
Underground tunnelled land new home, notes of asphalt and smoke, weary eyes light votives to unknown gods; Rūamoko smiles sees she
steps in the habit of boats human destinies float in her shoes respire through her skin, thin amphibian inhalations of sleep excretes salty wishes creeks
run with tadpoles dream the shock of legs muscular long but her will is not so strong as her cup, soon succumbs to whim;
Swimming thoughts become devilled eggs blanche her in watery depths moves cold doesn’t see herself coming doesn’t know herself as she goes.
Rise must make surface gasps with eyes closed stows each heartbeat now a stranger, tamps in her chest suggests a chill new blowing in
gulp the thrill savour the gusting pong it is fathomless autumn, and everything everyone is kneeling to the mustard flow already she allows its
golden mouth upon her soul dragging licks along her sagging throat it will swallow us whole, moths clocks the orbs of dynasties all swoon in
its amber wake, we fall and the fallen only breathe to leave strands of protein wipe the future from the corner of her eye sign her name
where only patterns remain beyond the shrill rush of waterways the still of ponds this god won’t play any game of muses is always mute caprice is
ruthless beauty laughing in the face of moons and suns, she takes six seeds she tastes the rite of queens on her tongue, she eats them one by one.
Rūamoko meanwhile he smiles youngest son husband of death chief executive of quakes and volcanic change, replenishes her plate, with kūmara
petals purple and white proud blooms of stress the earth well washed from her roots mind rinsed in gloom, we sit together in knowledge of seasons
her meal is freedom her food is doom in colours of fire and riches is replete, this harvest is inevitable tides of dominance, tender and complete.
Yesterday an echo of Persephone walks our coasts, victim complicit alone Demeter’s name never breaching these shores parental grief too vast
for ocean passage, she returns below summer done gleaming patapata in hand gleaned from koru frond Papa’s tears Rūamoko nods in kinship
their origins so far wide their stars collide and settle in the underbelly of life, both knowing the strife a child lives in void of a mother’s forgotten natural power.
“Papa” or “Papatūānuku” in NZ Māori tikanga is the spiritual mother and embodiment of the land. “Demeter” in Greek myth, when her daughter is bonded to the underworld, her grief causes the first winter.
Sky House Poetry 